Bound By The Secrets We Share
by AboardAMoose
Summary: Fili has a secret, and finds himself sharing it with a rather unexpected dwarf in their company - Bofur. An MPreg set throughout the tale of the Hobbit, eventual Fili/Bofur, a bit of background Dwalin/Ori thrown in for fun, and an exploration of the Durin-family relationships.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: MPreg, slash, trouble over deciding the fate of one's child, canonical-character death.

Were Fíli honest with himself, he would reluctantly have to accept that he had first realised the nature of his predicament miles back, before they had entered the Shire. At the very least, it had crossed his mind. But he did not want to admit it to himself now, when the swell beneath his hands had reached the size of a small grapefruit. While his fellow travellers were tightening their belts, experiencing the weight-loss that came with days full of exercise and evenings of frugal fare, his belt had tightened without him moving the pin from notch to notch. Rather, he had been forced to move his one looser. It was quite undeniable now. Before, it had not been. When his symptoms could be explained away by stress, by a sickness, by anything but the tiny beginnings of a child in his stomach, he freely explained them away.

He wished he could be different, though whether he wished to be braver, or more of a coward, he did not know. Had he been one or the other, rather than settle down come sunset, he would continue to ride, escape the ragtag company his Uncle had assembled and find... somewhere. Go somewhere. Somewhere less dragon-filled, for example. But he could not return home: the shame of abandoning his Uncle and scampering back to the pity of his mother was far too much. He did not think he could establish a home in the Wild, not alone, not in his condition. Rarely had he been away from family and friends – kin were close in dwarvendom, and does still when they remembered that kinship was all they had for so long. The thought of being alone, far from his brother... he would rather take the dragon.

Every muscle in his body desired sleep, desired rest. He was so tired, drained after weeks of being unable to keep anything but the plainest morsels of food down. He passed a hand over his eyes, as his head span with weariness and the speed of his ceaselessly raging thoughts.

Oh but to be home, with his mother's warm home-baked bread in his belly, soft furred blankets swaddling him in his own bed, and peace. Safety. The ability to relax just for one moment, and to quietly establish how he felt over the child... But as the thoughts passed his mind, he regretted them. Those were the desires of the hobbit, not worthy of him and his heritage. With Dáin's failure to send aid, Thorin needed all the swords he could find. Thirteen, a staff, and a carving knife were far from enough, and they would miss his desperately without an army.

He could not leave. All he could do was cling to his pony, pray his stomach ceased its churning and wait for his Uncle to permit them rest.

000

"Rain, rain, rain." Kíli sighed on the pony that trotted beside Fíli's own. Fíli's eyes rolled heavenwards. It was not the first time his younger sibling had voiced complaint at the gallons of water streaming from the heavens. "I think Gandalf icould/i make it stop if he wanted to."

"You thought he had slain hundreds of dragons, on top of thousands of sea monsters and scores of giants," Fíli reminded him. There was a muffled chuckle from one of the dwarves behind, but it could have been any one of many, enjoying Kíli's embarrassment. It was a favourite topic of amusement – though many others had believed the same, that was easily forgotten.

There was quiet for a moment, though the silence was not complete. Each day, time passed in the clipping of hooves on ground, and the endless patter of rain. Occasionally, conversation would strike up, or a song, but after two weeks of journeying in their completed company, and of muscles that ached from riding, patience was waning and conversation had run thin. Perhaps with warmth and shelter, spirits would rise, but resentful mutters were most commonplace.

"How are we going to defeat the dragon?" Kíli eventually queried.

Fíli glanced across to his younger brother, at the dark eyes that peered curiously out from under a sodden, drooping hood and a wispy fringe. As he had turned, he had not seen the tightening of Thorin's shoulders, just ahead. Slowly, Fíli answered, "There are a number of ways." He seemed to contemplate them. "Foremost among them, I believe, we should send you in, allow the dragon to chase you out, and that impossibly hot fire of his will be quenched by this flood from the skies."

Despite the danger to himself, and the joke obvious to (almost) all others in the company, Kíli perked up. "Will that work?"

Fíli was not the only one to laugh at his brother's apparent obtuseness, but Dwalin did not seem to join in the humour. From behind, he spurred his pony forwards until he was in reach of the youngest dwarf, and dealt a blow across the back of Kíli's head. "Of course not, you fool."

"Ow!" Kíli protests, raising his hand to rub at the afflicted spot. "I was just asking."

"And I am answering," Dwalin replied. "We will deal with those matters when we come to them. Not before." His sharp gaze flipped between Kíli and Thorin's back.

The sternness was something Kíli had grown up with in training sessions under Dwalin's strict hand and bark. Although it made him quail a little, he set his jaw out and claimed, "I am allowed to ask. You always praised my youthful curiosity."

"Until that youthful curiosity got you into his liquor cabinet," Fíli reminded him, chuckling at one of several memories.

Kíli, however, was not diverted. "And it got me here. So I want to know if there is a plan."

On the other side of the young brothers, Balin rode up. "Hush now lads. There is a way to go before that is a concern."

"And it is not a concern of yours," Dwalin added for good measure.

Nervous mutters began to spring up from others behind, as they too began to question as Kíli had. They were rewarded with glares and short words from the sons of Fundin. Only when Ori had ceased fidgeting with his knitted sleeves, and been distracted by talk of the treasure (a safe bet in any fraught situation), did Balin and Dwalin ride forwards to flank the silent, taught Thorin. They rode proud and tall, like stoic guardians. Fíli and Kíli rode behind, cheeks flushed with familiar embarrassment, feeling rather like they had missed something important, and stepped in it again.

000

When they finally stopped for rest, in a slight hollow dug out of the hill, they were sodden through and shivering. The ponies were bad tempered, and huddled around the trees they were tied to, but the moment their foodbags were attached to their reins, the probability of them biting was significantly lowered. The same could not be said for the dwarves, as Óin struggled with the tinderbox, and the rabbits Kíli shot were thin and ragged.

Fíli waited until the others were busy, crowding around the struggling fire, or helping skin the small mammals, before he stripped his top layers off and replaced them with dry ones from his pack. He was well aware of how the wet fabric clung to his skin, making his shape too obvious for his liking. He wanted to avoid any chance of suspicion. When a chill but dry tunic hung over his shoulders, he removed his damp underlayers, awkward but secret, and that latter was all that mattered.

He was returning his wrist guards to their place when a heavy hand clapped on his shoulder. He startled at the unexpected weight, and whirled around to find Thorin towering over him.

"A moment."

How long Thorin had watched him, Fíli did not know, and self-consciously, his hand found his stomach. It was not so large surely...

The thoughts plagued at him as he followed his Uncle, past the company and through the trees, in the evening gloom, until they were secluded beneath heavy branches that dripped. A leaden dread had settled in his gut, not at all helped by the scowl on Thorin's brow. He was not, however, so foolish as to start the conversation, should he be mistaken. Thorin always urged caution with words for when he took up his Crown.

Eventually, when Fíli did not break beneath the glare, Thorin folded his arms and demanded, "Your conversation this morning was not helpful. Do you realise this?"

It took a moment for Fíli to understand what Thorin had said, too distracted as he was by relief that his secret was not uncovered before its time. But then came confusion. What could Thorin possibly have objected to? He guessed as best he could. "I am sure Dwalin's hair did not really fall out because of you?"

A dangerous warning in his voice, Thorin said, "Not that."

"Oh! The bit about Nori being next to need an earhorn because of Dori's nagging." Despite Thorin's sombre mood, Fíli chuckled to himself at the memory. "They both know that was a joke."

Slightly strained, Thorin repeated, "No, not that either."

"Then I – oh." Realisation finally dawned. "The dragon."

Exasperation turned to impatience, and the strain showed in Thorin's voice as he replied, "Yes, the dragon. Your ramblings on food and rain and gossip are not worth objection. Leading the company to doubt, on the other hand, is."

Fíli stood his ground against his Uncle's scolding. He was not twenty-five anymore. But he was still willing to shift the blame to his brother when appropriate. "It was Kíli who questioned aloud the idea that you might not have entirely planned this journey to its end."

"Kíli is not my heir," Thorin growled, waving in the direction of the camp. "You are."

As if Fíli could forget. The reminders were not infrequent. "And as such I keep my doubts to myself, as you would wish."

Thorin ignored him. "One day, you will be leader of a group of warriors like this, more if all goes well, and you will understand that anything which leads them to question your ability to lead is dangerous. It makes them hesitate to draw their weapons, and that hastens their deaths."

It seemed like a wild exaggeration to Fíli. "You insult them if you think they have not thought to doubt you themselves – and grumbled about it when you are not near."

"Your response was to make light of it."

"I diverted attention, yes. Because humour lifts spirits away from their doubts."

"You should squash it with confidence even when you have none."

"Pretending they are wrong insults them. They are right to have concerns. I would distract them from it rather than lie to them."

Thorin took a step back, for in the heat of argument they had drawn close together. "I thought you had learned better."

The disappointment stung. As Thorin walked away, Fíli cried out after him, "And when they are right to question? They might have ideas to help." He knew at once, having said the words that he must sound young foolishly optimistic to Thorin's experienced ears.

Thorin did not look back as he replied, "That is not their role."

000

Kíli watched from behind waxy green leaves, as his Uncle stormed away, and his brother sagged down to his knees against the tree the pair had argued beneath. A large droplet from the leaves above his head splashed down on his nose, and he shook it away in irritation, as he watched Fíli close tired eyes.

His brother suffered, and he had to help. "I did it again," Kíli said, quietly, pushing away the branches that had hidden him from his Uncle's view.

"Yes." Fíli did not question Kíli's presence, simply accepted the intrusion into what was clearly a private moment. It was not the worst event his younger brother had walked in on, in his many years.

"I am sorry." Kíli offered his hand to Fíli, to raise him from the ground, but Fíli did not open his eyes to see it.

In a voice that was monotonous, without the slightest variance in tone, Fíli said, "Go back to camp, Kíli."

The order came without the courtesy even of eye-contact, and it irritated Kíli. He had been attempting to make amends. "You are not King yet!" he snapped.

Fíli acted as if he had not heard his brother speak. "If you will not then I will." As if it came at great cost to him, Fíli hauled himself to his feet, and headed towards the camp, arms crossed around his body. His head was held high, forehead lined and lips pressed tight closed. He looked far too much like Thorin for Kíli's liking.

After a few steps, he paused to look back at Kíli, and this time truly looked at him. "I just wanted a moment to think in silence. Why could you not give me that?"

He left Kíli, standing alone beneath the steadily dripping trees.

000

The days of travelling through driving rain and the long watchful nights meant Fíli was left with a vast amount of time for thought. Though a substantial percentage of that time was spent resenting the tingling pain in his fingers, numbed by the rain, the remained was spent obsessively rolling over the same persistent thoughts. His trouble haunted his mind, and he worried over every aspect – could he send word to the other father? Should he? How could the child survive? How could he face it not? What home was the road or an ancient mountain for an infant? It was ceaseless. He could not be rid of the roiling of his mind.

Even when he slept, his dreams were consumed with the thoughts of the creature inside him turning dark, grasping at his organs, and wrenching... Or a tiny hand taking his own in a trusting grasp, innocent of the trouble it caused. He would do better to be rid of it, this unwanted bastard child of a drunken night five months before. But it would cause delay and questions and he would have to... Unspeakable thoughts to yearning ones plagued at him, some half-formed, some vivid and sharp.

He yearned to speak of his problem, to share his fears with a kind ear, not least in the hope that a fresh mind could summon up a solution to his woes, or that voicing them would allow him to find clairty. But his Uncle's wrath would be that of thunder; his younger brother could not more keep a secret than fly; and the sons of Fundin would tell Thorin in an instant, such was their loyalty to him above all. He trusted no other, not knowing them well enough to take such a risk.

It was not a small secret to keep. He did not know how long he could keep it alone – but nor did he know that there would be no need for him to.

When the moment came for the seal of secrecy to be broken, it was in the most unexpected way, and by a most unexpected individual.

The evening was slowly passing in its usual format. Dwarves swarmed about the fire, raucous and merry in the light of the rain's temporary departure, and jostled in the queue for dinner. Fíli was paying only half a heed to his brother's nattering as he waited for food.

"And it just darted – I am sure Nori sneezed."

"Did he?"

"Yes! I certainly did not make it jump like that. And there was that big fat duck he sent flying yesterday!"

"Was there?"

"I told you, I had it in my sights. Just short. Just short. Do you remember..."

It was inane and endless. Even when the nights were not quiet, Fíli found himself slipping easily away from his conversations and back to his thoughts. What Nori had or had not done just did not seem important anymore. Suddenly, he was slightly distracted by a commotion behind, and turned away, only for an overly exuberant Ori to cannon into his back and send him flying.

A cry escaped Fíli's lips, and as he hurtled to the Earth, instinct took over.

The child.

It was his only thought, as he twisted as much as he could in the instant that he had, so he hit the Earth on his back. Breath exploded from his lungs, but his hands flew to his stomach. He had not landed upon the child.

As he struggled to pull breath back into his lungs, the world spun. He focused as much as he could on drawing in air, blowing it out, ignoring his body's urge to panic at the breathlessness, and the drumbeat of worry. The child. The child. Gradually, he became aware of Ori being given a thorough dressing down by his eldest brother for his over-excitement, and raucous laughter of the others at the youngsters' tumblings. As the world became clearer, he was amused to see Ori being dragged by the ear to the back of the queue, and coughed on laughter.

When his breathing was entirely restored, he accepted a hand up, but regretted it when he reached full height, and he found Dwalin's dark eyes scrutinising him.

"I did not teach you to fall like that," Dwalin slowly said.

Hesitantly, Fíli started, "I-" but he was not able to manage a syllable more before Dwalin cut him off.

"On your front. Impact on your arms. Slap the ground. You know that. You deserve any pain you now have if it will help you remember your lessons."

Once more, Fíli opened his mouth to protest in his own defence, but this time, Bofur intervened. "Here you are Dwalin," he said loudly, proffering a steaming bowl of stew.

After treasure, food was perhaps the best tool for the distraction of a dwarf, and, after a moment, a mildly appeased Dwalin stomped away to speak to Ori.

Fíli craned around to follow his departure, hoping to see a similar scolding, but Kíli leaned over to Fíli, dark brows drawn together in concern. "Are you alright, brother? Because Dwalin is right, you..."

"I am fine," Fíli snapped back, a little testily, though he was aware of the slight tremor in his limbs. He had to remind himself that he was fine – but he had felt such fear as he had not expected. He supposed it was the same response a bitch would have should her pups be threatened – any sacrifice for the child. But at no point had he expected such an intense surge of feeling. Fear. His mind might be conflicted beyond endurance, but his body was not prepared to allow harm to the infant. He had not even had time...

"Brother?"

Kíli's interruption returned him to reality. "Are you sure you are alright?"

Fíli shook his head to clear it of the wondering. "If I am not, Dwalin is right. It is my own fault." That Dwalin was more right about that fault than he knew, was something he was not prepared to admit.

"But..."

"Fine."

"Here'yar," Bofur interrupted once more. "Nice'n hot to take away the shock."

As Fíli took the bowl, he felt Bofur's gaze travel down to his hands, and the small tremble in them. Cursing his weakness, Fíli snatched the bowl away, and almost slopped half his meal down his front.

Bofur's eyes were still upon him, and his eyebrows had retreated into the shadow of his hat. Primly, he said, "You... are welcome."

Fíli attempted to walk away, but Bofur grasped at his furred coat sleeve. Leaning close, and using a low voice, the dwarf added, "We'll be having words later, mind."

It made Fíli panic even more than the fall. Without a word, he wrenched his sleeve free, and fled, taking his aching body to a seat at some distance from the others.

000

Fíli's attempt at isolating himself into a shell of wronged grumpiness did not last long. The ever chirpy brat of a brother of his forcibly dragged him into conversation, and he could not help but be infected by his joviality. It was not natural for him to spend so long unhappy. Soon enough, he was singing along with the rest, forgetting his cares for a while, and forgetting Bofur's promise.

Bofur, of course, had not forgotten, and whilst the company were distracted calculating how many Bilbos would weigh the same as Bombur, he tapped on Fíli's shoulder. Casual as you like, he requested, "Gimme a hand with Clover a minute? Think she's got a stone in her hoof."

No one else offered to help – Bofur's pony was about as feisty as her rider, and only slightly more likely to bite – so, reluctantly, Fíli rose and followed Bofur's lead. However, before they reached the ponies, Bofur veered off, heading away from those who were supervising the equines, and into the forest.

When they stopped, Fíli grumbled, "Am I to be scolded for endangering your cauldron of stew with Ori's antics?" He hoped he was not to be grilled over his tremor, and to head off scrutiny.

"Not at all," Bofur replied, voice light and cheerful as he was wont. Away from the fire, the only light was a smouldering fagot Bofur dug into the dirt when they paused, and it was hard for Fíli to discern the other dwarf's expression. Only by his voice could he derive feelings, and there was no threat there, only concern. "How's your back? You took quite a tumble there."

Fíli reached around to press against the muscles in question. They throbbed something horrid, and he had a feeling it would be worse after he slept on cold stone. Nevertheless, he claimed, "It is fine. I said as much."

"And the rest of you?" Bofur pressed. "No bleeding?"

That threw Fíli off balance slightly. Confused, he asked, "Why would I be bleeding?"

For a moment, that perhaps seemed longer than it was, there was silence, and Bofur's dark eyes were calculating in the dim light. Then he leaned forwards, and spoke in hushed tones, as he had done before, gaze flitting everywhere around them but Fíli's face. "If you wish to keep something secret, you should spend less time with it in your hands. You are not as discrete as you might wish."

"I do not..." But he did understand. Fíli suddenly felt unbearably hot. His chest constricted, and the heavy stench of tobacco that wreathed Bofur became overwhelming. He took an unsteady step backwards, into clearer, cooler air, but it did not calm his sweat-prickling skin.

"My sister did the same when she was expecting." Bofur tried to place a reassuring hand on Fíli's bicep, but Fíli flinched away from the touch. "There's no need to fear. I just worried when you were thrown like that. Have you checked?"

"No, I..." Abrasive – and false – confidence took over, and Fíli straightened his shoulders against his fears. "If you dare tell anyone, I will not cease to cause you pain. I'll... I do not know what I will do, but it will be painful, I can assure you of that."

Fíli's irritation sparked when Bofur just laughed, loudly, amused by his threat, and not at all fazed. "It is your business, not mine. I was just worried - and still right to be. You should take better care of yourself."

"Had I known I was coming for a lecture..."

"Just a word from a concerned friend." Bofur held up his hands in offering of peace. "I meant nothing by it." He hopped away from the tree he leant against, and gestured at the flaming torch. "If you are fine, I'll be off. You can keep that."

Once the older dwarf had disappeared into the gloom of the trees, Fíli let out a long, shuddering breath, trying to process the new flood of thoughts. The conversation had been so short, so to the point and so disconcerting. A little like Bofur himself. Fíli worried at his lips as he processed the new information. If he had been opaque enough in his actions for one of his companions to notice, who else had done so? How many more confessions in the shadows would he be asked to bear?

And Bofur was concerned for the child after his fall. Their quest had been quiet thusfar, but he knew it was unlikely to remain so: there would be more scraps and falls, unruly ponies, unsteady rocks, thunder and cold. Fíli closed his eyes against the onslaught of a thousand possible futures. He did not know how to feel about those dangers – exhilarated previously, but now? Too many questions – and there was only one he could answer.

Listening hard, for any sound of approach, Fíli unbuckled his taught belt and snuck a hand between his legs. There was no passage formed there, and when he removed his hand, no blood. The child was safe within him. That he knew. How he felt about that, was quite a different matter.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for your lovely comments thus far! They always mean a lot. Here's a short update for today.

Fíli found himself watching Bofur somewhat more closely over the few days that followed. It was a handy distraction, something that drew him from his insular thoughts, and he learned a great deal. He did not know the toymaker well, nor his brother or cousin. Thorin, of course, spent many a month in his home, and by his friendship with them, Dwalin and Balin too. Their cousins, Óin and Glóin, were familiar faces through their kinship – in their youth, Fíli and Kíli had a great deal of fun hiding Óin's precious ear trumpet, using it inappropriately, and fill it with wax. The remaining six dwarves were unknown, as a whole, far from Thorin's closest friends.

A little examination showed why Bofur was the somewhat well-known toymaker he was – that childish humour he possessed was perfect for the role. He was always teasing, always joking, not least with his brother – and Fíli recognised that humour in himself all too well. It was not a surprise that the games made him smile, even when he found himself surrounded by his gloomiest thoughts. When the whole company shook with their roaring laughter, how could he not find his spirits lifted in turn? And when it was not himself and his brother causing that laughter, it was almost certainly Bombur and Bofur.

Bofur's humour sparkled, in his eyes, in his ready grin. His hands were agile, always with something to twist around his fingers or whittle, busy and fidgeting. Every movement and moment was twitching with energy and life, that the whole company seemed to draw upon.

When Thorin reminded them – as he so frequently did – of the sombre nature of their journey, and it dimmed their moods like a gravid cloud, the misery would slip from Bofur like rain off an oilskin. His smile set something warm in Fíli's chest, that reminded him of home – comfort, and the protection of four sturdy walls.

It was not as Fíli expected it to be – judgement or the fear that Bofur would tell his secret. The world did not end or even shatter a little. It was safe with Bofur. All that changed was a little more food in his belly, the occasional touch of a hand on his shoulder when he stumbled, or saddened, and a smile more often sent his way. If it was tinged with pity, he did his utmost to ignore it.

000

Their company and their breed were far too stoic to complain of the aches and pains that bothered them usually, only the occasionally grumble after a night on a particularly gravelly bed. Yet having been strapped tight to the roasting spit, elbows and knees seemingly multiplied, all gave voice to their grievances.

Kíli had been dragged across the ground in his sack, and nursed rapidly blossoming bruises with little grace. Fíli found himself looking after his younger brother, smoothing ointment over his skin.

"Hey, that stings!" Kíli hissed in protest as the treatment was applied to torn skin.

"You are no longer a child. Take your medicine without complaint," Fíli ordered him, a little sharper than he had originally intended. The minty scent of the light cream was, to him, soothing, but it was not his broken skin it was applied to. He had borne two months of sickness and nausea at near constant levels – Kíli could manage a little graze.

Kíli scuffed his boots into the dirt. "If you were more gentle, I would not have reason to moan."

The chuckle that statement elicited from Fíli was gruff. "Brother, you would gripe and grouse if you stubbed your toe. So stop shuffling and hold still."

"That is not fair," Kíli muttered.

"It is, and you know it." Fili had been teasing, but it seemed Kíli either did not think so, or thought it unfair for him to do so. He turned away from his older brother's ministrations, and shrugged his shirt back over his shoulders. "Do not waste the cream!" protested Fíli.

"There is no need for it, as I ought to bear it as the prim and proper heir of Durin that I am, feeling every wound inflected on our most noble race since since its establishment!"

To say Fíli was bewildered by his sibling's outburst was an understatement. He was speechless as Kíli stormed away in the direction of the ponies. Before Fíli could do more than re-stopper the tub of ointment and return it to his pack, there were rumbles and shouts, and they were facing danger all over again.

000

Fíli took the first chance he could get to corner his brother. Unfortunately, that was after a race and a battle and a meal, and another. Balin and Thorin had disappeared into a dark corner with Gandalf, and half of the company were readying themselves for a much-needed rest. The other half were smoking and softly singing. Kíli made to excuse himself to go to the room the elves had offered him, and Fíli followed unbidden.

From the stiffness in the younger dwarf's shoulders, it was clear that he knew Fíli trailed in his footsteps, but he did not acknowledge him – not even when Fíli entered his room and perched on the luxuriously soft bed. It sunk a little under his weight, and for a moment, all Fíli wanted to do was lean back and let it, warmth and sleep swallow him. He was so tired, for the trolls had kept them awake until dawn, but he supposed that was partially his own fault. His hands found his forehead, to take the weight of his head, elbows propped on his knees, as he waited for a sign from Kíli that he was allowed to speak.

All he could hear was the rustle of fabric, the clink of a metal buckle, the shuffle of Kíli's feet, booted then socked. And then, a sigh. The bed depressed at Fíli's side, and he waited for the angry words of before. He did not receive them. Instead, fingers found the hair of his bowed head, and began to undo his somewhat untidy braids, releasing the tightly bound hair. It made his head ache wonderfully.

Slowly, as his hair was unravelled, so too was his own tension, and he leant against the warmth of his brother at his side. The room no longer felt like a cloud hovered over them, waiting to burst. Rather more empty. Just empty and tired.

Eventually, Kíli ventured, "I did not mean to be as I was this morning."

"Then why were you?" Fíli could not help but be on the defensive. "I do not think I deserved it. My words were meant in jest."

Kíli was silent for a moment, clearly judging how to phrase his words. His fingers continued to card through the waves of Fíli's hair, more out of habit now his braids were all undone. "You have not been the brother I know these past weeks – since we left Bilbo's house, I think. You have taken Uncle's words to heart, I think, but you should not be like him."

In surprise, Fíli's eyebrows rose. His thoughts had been full of the child within him, not Thorin's lectures on duty and pride. But he supposed silence was silence. His usual games with his brother were not as appealing as before, seeming trivial, and that morning was not the first time had had brushed Kíli away as childish. He could understand why Kíli might draw that conclusion.

The continuing silence was making Kíli fidget, and after too many seconds had passed for his liking the impatient younger dwarf burst out, "Are you keeping something from me?"

Fíli's heart leapt in his chest, sudden fear and alarm. It was his chance to tell his brother everything – but he knew at once that he could not take it. Fear formed a solid barrier in his mind, and instead, he managed, "I did not mean to push you away. And I do not think I am better for being older, I swear, I have never thought that."

"Yes you have!" Kíli exclaimed, and the joviality had returned to his voice.

Fíli could not help but laugh too. "Alright, but no more than any other older brother feels he is better than the bratty little one that came after him."

Outraged, Kíli cried, "I am not a brat!" but he was laughing. Much more relaxed, he lay back on his head. "Well perhaps I was being."

Fíli turned, and for the first time met his younger brother's eyes properly. "This quest is hard on Thorin, and it is serious. We could have died twice over today alone." His hand crept towards his stomach as he thought of all the could-have-beens, but thinking of Bofur's words, he snatched it away after little more than a cradle at the reassuring weight. "If it sobers me a little, at times, then you must forgive me. It is not to do with you." It was entirely selfish.

000

An hour of jokes and cheering tales had vastly lifted Kíli's spirits, but not so Fíli's. Primarily, he felt guilty for making his brother worried and upset, and his own humour had felt half-hearted. That made him understand Kíli's point of view. He tried to engage, but there was always this nagging distraction in a corner of his mind reminding him that his joy was not complete. The child darkened everything.

Obsessed with his own thoughts, he almost knocked into Bofur as he rounded the corner.

"Woah there!"

"Sorry. Not paying attention," Fíli apologised in a mutter.

"I can imagine." The sympathetic expression that too often found its way to Bofur's face when he caught Fíli stretching out a kink in his back, or rubbing his eyes in tiredness appeared.

Something inside Fíli snapped. "Do not look at me like that! I am not a cripple."

"I know that," Bofur said, thick brows knitting in concern.

"Then, stop!" hissed Fíli.

Bofur watched him with wariness. "Do you want to come in and have a word?"

The gentle tone had Fíli's indignation melting away, and he deflated. "Yes I do." He was hurriedly ushered into Bofur's room.

"I told you, you could come talk at any time. No need to build yourself up into a state."

Fíli decided to ignore the judgement, as it was more reproving than accusing. "It is not that easy." When waved to, he took a seat in a light-coloured wooden chair that looked as if it ought not to be able to support his weight, but held him without a creak.

Bofur sat across from him, hands folding in his lap, quite at his ease. "Have you been at odds with that brother of yours?"

"Apparently. Without my knowing it." Fíli shrugged, a little helplessly. "I have been neglecting him, it seems. He is quite needy of attention at times."

"He is young," Bofur said, a little dismissively. "You both are."

"Too young for this," Fíli waved at his distended stomach, pressing at the confines of his shirt fabric as it was. A little abashed, Bofur opened his mouth as if to protest that was not his intention, but Fíli shook his head. "I know it is. I am."

A wry smile twisted Bofur's lips. "I had guessed you had not intended it."

Without the raging emotion and shock of their previous conversation, beneath dark trees, Fíli found it easier to talk, easier to sat his own thoughts into something coherent. And Bofur had been nothing but kind to him, the grating pity aside. "I did not tell Kíli tonight. I could have done, I had the perfect moment to, but I could not."

"Why not?" Bofur gently pressed.

Fíli knew the answer, it was on his tongue, it whirled his head, but it was a battle to finally say it. "If I told him, I would have to tell him what I intend to do. And that would require a decision."

Bofur tensed visibly in his chair. "What decision?"

"Not that!" protested Fíli. "Not what you think. I thought – but I could not. But I risk this child with each day that passes on this quest, yet I can not abandon Thorin. There are so few of us as it stands."

"He would not want you to risk an heir of his."

That startled a laugh from Fíli. "Would he not? Erebor is all he speaks of, all he thinks and dreams of. I do not think any cost it would take would be too much."

The exhale of breath through Bofur's nostrils indicated his disapproval. "You do him a disservice."

"It has always been that way. He could not tell us stories when we were young enough for them if they were not about those halls. It was all he would speak to mother of, though it pained her – he wanted her and us to know every detail of a home she left when she was ten years old, and we had never seen!" The last words were an exclamation, and he broke off, breathing hard.

Bofur could not restrain himself to his chair a moment longer, and he knelt at the foot of Fíli's chair. His hand found Fíli's knee, and he earnestly said, "You can not leave your Uncle's side. You can not go alone through this. So we must ensure this is no cost."

Desperately, Fíli cried, "How?" His voice wobbled as much as his emotions.

But Bofur was clam, and his voice soothing, as he promised to keep Fíli safe, as he promised the situation was not either-or. Fíli allowed the words to wash over him, and tried his best to believe in and accept the help offered to him.


End file.
